


Tomorrow, We'll Be Husbands

by whichrealityisthis



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Marriage, pre-wedding jitters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichrealityisthis/pseuds/whichrealityisthis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written as a Johnlock Gift Exchange Assignment, in response to the lovely armydoctorpeterpotter's prompt: “Any rating. It’s the night before their wedding. One of them is having wedding jitters — the other calms him down.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow, We'll Be Husbands

**Author's Note:**

> My sincere apologies if any of the following happen to be in the fic: overwhelming cheesiness, overly sweet mushiness, errors of any kind.
> 
> Ha-ha, "if".
> 
> I'm just going to try and not obsess over everything that's wrong with this...

John swore loudly as the mug of hot water slipped out of his hands and smashed to pieces at his feet.

Sherlock soon appeared and shooed John out of the kitchen. He put another kettle of water to boil and cleared up the pieces of china off the tiled floor. Moments later, as he steeped cardamom tea bags in two fresh mugs, he was aware of yet another reason to be grateful that he crossed paths with John Watson: The doctor had taught him to appreciate the simple pleasures in making tea. He watched the packets soak up the water, and deep brown tendrils gently curl out of them. He breathed in the warm, smoky-flavoured swirls of steam and relished the sense of calm that gradually infused his long, cold limbs.

Going back into the living room, Sherlock handed one of the mugs to a disgruntled John, and settled down in front of his laptop.

__________

John was tired. He sat slumped back against the sofa cushions, barely paying attention to the blaring telly in front of him. The rehearsal had done absolutely nothing to calm his nerves, and in spite of the dream team of wedding planners that was Molly, Mrs. Hudson and Mummy Holmes (he wasn’t counting Harry, it turned out she was useless at this kind of thing), John couldn’t help worrying about the details.

As well as the big picture.

This whole thing had been his idea. He was the one who had casually suggested marriage that quiet Saturday morning when Sherlock was lounging around the flat, seemingly content even though there was no case. John had felt so confident at the time, so sure of himself, and now he was beginning to question it.  
__________

Sherlock looked up when he heard the small, hopeless chuckle escape John’s lips. He examined John for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day...

Pale skin, dark circles under his eyes, hair unkempt from where John had been ruffling his hands through it, wrinkled sheets of paper (with text scored out and notes scribbled into the margins) strewn about him, one foot tapping against the carpeted floor, eyes glazed over in the reflected light coming from the TV screen...

Sherlock felt a huff of impatience rising through him. This whole thing had been John’s idea. He hadn’t asked for all this. He hadn’t asked for all the drama. He fought the desire to roll his eyes and tell John exactly that.  
__________

Did Sherlock really want to marry him? Come to think of it, it was unlikely Sherlock would ever agree to something as mundane as marriage. Why did he say yes?

John tapped his foot on the floor nervously. He chided himself for succumbing to such a clichéd thing as pre-wedding jitters, but he couldn’t help himself. All the minutiae of wedding arrangements, compounded with the prospect of being an actual married man, had steadily been threatening to overwhelm him.

His feelings towards Sherlock hadn’t changed in the slightest, of course. He knew he would always love the smug genius who was quietly typing away in the corner. John was almost jealous at how calm and unfazed Sherlock was by all the recent proceedings. Wasn’t he nervous at all? If he was, he wasn’t showing it. John sighed and closed his eyes.

Sherlock had been perfectly well behaved during all their discussions with the ‘planning committee’, as it were. But John knew how much he must have hated it. He recollected all those little moments he was sure he sensed Sherlock holding back retorts... John pictured Sherlock nodding politely at the tailor who was making their suits, at Mrs. Hudson as she described the elaborate wedding cake she was going to attempt herself, at his mother on her choice of invitations... John smiled at the thought.  
__________

“First time you’ve cracked a smile all week.”

John was jolted out of his reverie and saw that Sherlock had stopped typing and was looking at him appraisingly.

“Just remembered who’s actually marrying you?”

John felt a self-conscious grin spread across his face. He wanted to talk to Sherlock about how he felt, but he didn’t know where to begin. And more than anything else, he felt silly for even needing to.

But as it turned out, John wouldn’t have to say a word.  
__________

Sherlock got up, walked over to the sofa, switched off the TV and knelt on the floor before John. Narrow beams of orange from the streetlights shone through the gap in the curtains and slanted diagonally across the floor. Sherlock took John’s hands and looked into his eyes.

“John”, Sherlock began, “I’ve never given importance to the institution of matrimony, and I had most certainly never considered it for myself. The only reason this makes such perfect sense to me, the reason I’m so absolutely certain about doing this is because I believe in you.”

“You know how people who’ve just won something, an award or prize or whatever empty gesture someone deigns to shower them with... you know why they try and pull in someone they love to pose with them for pictures? Because they know that that person is as much a reason for their winning as their own talent and effort. It’s because they acknowledge that person’s unspoken and unquestioned contribution to everything that they’ve worked for, everything that they’ve become; even though the said person may not even have an inkling of how much they’ve been needed.

Sherlock paused, and his eyes flickered from side to side, just like they did when he was trying to mentally list out all the possible solutions to a case he had just been examining.

“I don’t care if the minister stumbles over his lines, I don’t care if our suits fall apart at the seams, I don’t care if the tent collapses on the guests, I don’t care if all the starters come out burnt, I don’t care if Mrs. Hudsons’ cake falls flat as a pancake, I don’t care if it rains and even Mycroft forgets his umbrella, I don’t care if we forget our vows and lose the rings... I don’t care about anything else that’s going on as long as it’s you walking down the aisle with me.”

“None of this...” he said, gesturing to the time schedules and guest lists, “None of it matters, John. You are the only prerequisite.”

John stared back at Sherlock, feeling his long fingers clasped tightly around his own. This whole thing had been his idea, and it was the best decision he had ever made. “I love you”, he said simply.

“And I, you”, Sherlock replied, kissing John’s hands. “Now if you’re done moping, I feel like a second dinner. The one at the rehearsal was quite unsatisfactory.”

“I’d much prefer a second breakfast tomorrow, but yeah, I could do second dinner too”, John said, getting up.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “That’s a reference to something...”

John giggled. “Indeed it is, but you can Google it later. Angelo’s?”

“Hmm, yes, that would be fitting.” In response to John’s questioning glance, he added, “It’s where we had our first dinner as bachelors. And by this time tomorrow, we’ll be husbands.”

Sherlock held out a curved arm, and John linked it through his own. As they passed the landing downstairs, they smelled something like burnt pastry and heard Mrs. Hudson mutter something about flawed recipes. Together they walked out of 221B, arm-in-arm and grinning widely.

**Author's Note:**

> armydoctorpeterpotter, I'm so glad I got your prompt to fill, I love your blog, and I really hope you like this...


End file.
